Gabe Morton didn’t think of himself as an activist. Didn’t keep up with the grand debates and great issues of the day. He’d only recently become, as he put it, a grownup. High school dropout, smoking pot and playing video games all day, he’d barely scraped by until he managed to catch a lucky break with free tuition to community college. Captivated by approaches to science he never considered before, he became an EMT then earned his nursing degree.
He spent a few years working in Washington-area hospitals, doing none of the fun assignments like the maternity ward or the depressing ones like the ICU. He just did his job. Didn’t analyze it. Helped people when he could. Took the losses when they came. Nothing spectacular.
Then the shit hit the fan.
He saw coworkers shipped away for no reason, paraded out of the lounge or cafeteria by soldiers with big guns and bigger smiles. Several of his neighbors up and vanished, leaving his grandmother’s old craftsman home one of the only occupied residences on the block. Never with any explanation, though he assumed there had to be legitimate reasons behind the disappearances. Perhaps they’d stolen from their employer, or committed tax fraud, or done something to get the eye of the government on them. Innocent people weren’t carted away for nothing, were they? He ignored the rumors and continued to go about his life.
He had no affiliations to speak of. No family still alive. A few friends, but not many. A benign, non-threatening man slipping his way through a society looking over its shoulder at every turn. When he heard about an opening at the federal holding facility inside the Beltway, he applied. He wasn’t sure why; he’d heard stories about what went on there, knew there was a good chance that it wasn’t the only facility of its kind. But the money was good and the third shift hours were tolerable. When he got the gig it shocked the hell out of him. It was a demotion in title but a huge increase in salary.
He started in the morgue two days after he was hired. It was not enjoyable labor. But he was a hard worker and it didn’t take long for him to earn the supposedly honorable position of removing bodies from their cells. No one discussed why or how the prisoners had appeared, or why they all ended up in body bags. Gabe learned quickly that the well-oiled propaganda machine churning out favorable stories for the government was nothing more than a charade. His coworkers didn’t find it troubling. But he did.
His quiet advocacy began. He saw the Speaker of the House first. Gabe wasn’t much into following politics but he knew who Robert Allen was when he saw him, even being shuffled down the hall in handcuffs. Other people came through, some he recognized, some he did not.
When he found out they’d captured Caroline Gerard, he knew it was time to act. You didn’t have to be political to know who Caroline Gerard and John McIntyre were. The tabloid press and pop culture websites didn’t seem nearly as focused on their policies as on their personal lives. Gabe always thought it would be difficult to be that kind of person – someone who wanted to be in public service but was thrust into the seedier aspects of it without their consent. Gerard didn’t play any of their games. Unlike McIntyre, who was used to being on the society pages every week and relished the limelight.
No, Gabe Morton didn’t follow politics. But he followed her. From the first time he saw her on C-SPAN to the news of her first husband’s passing to her keynote address and beyond. She seemed so approachable. Friendly. Likeable. Someone he’d enjoy meeting outside of a political context. He knew not to count on news clips or articles to glean information about a person, but she appeared to be genuinely nice.
When she and her second husband started speaking out against the Santos Administration, people noticed. Some were spurred to action. Most were not. When Gerard and McIntyre appeared on Meet the Press the previous December to discuss their concerns about potential overreach with regard to executive orders, Gabe’s interest was piqued.
He started searching message boards for the first time that Sunday, and his eyes were opened. Rumors of rebellion in California. Hints that Texas would secede. Snippets of information indicating that members of Congress, government workers, and other policymakers who had withdrawn from their positions had not done so voluntarily.
He kept his research to himself. Kept his head down when he was at the grocery store, walking to get the mail, driving to and from work. Quiet, unassuming, nondescript. Some random white dude going about his life. That was how to do it. That was how to keep safe.
Until he got sick of standing pat. He met a few people online. Learned the language, the secret codes. Crunch came to stay with him first. He needed a place to crash and Gabe didn’t have the heart to turn him away. He met up with Jonesie when he started working at The Fed. Jones had a lease ending and not a lot of cash to spare so he moved in as well. The plotting began.
Amazing how it had progressed in a few short weeks. Maybe a month or two. Gabe had been working at that terrible job for three months before everything started to come together. He managed to stick out another three months after that fateful Sunday when his research had begun. He knew he’d have to make it last longer. If he and Jones didn’t time things properly, it would destroy everything they’d accomplished so far. Still, he felt guilty for allowing himself to be taken in for so long. The last few weeks could hardly make up for months or even years of ignorance.
Gabe knew Gerard would be close to death when they snatched her from her captors; there was no other plausible way to get her safely out of the building. She was quite ill and had a constant low grade fever threatening to break into the type of bodily defense mechanism their meager supplies couldn’t address. Crunch was getting frustrated. He had virtually no medical training and couldn’t contact Gabe when he was working his shift at the Fed. He confronted Gabe when he returned from work, two days after she’d arrived.
“She needs to be in a hospital,” he said.
Jones had already slinked out of the kitchen, sensing an argument was coming. Gabe set down his keys and got two beers out of the refrigerator. “And which one of us is going to take her there? I’m sure she’ll receive the finest treatment.”
“She’s sick, Gabe. Sicker than I’ve ever seen anyone.”
“She’s hurt. She’s fighting off infection. It’ll be fine.”
“What if she dies?”
Gabe shoved the beers into his backpack and started down the stairs. Crunch followed him. Despite his fatigue, he barely took his eyes off his patient if he could help it.
“She won’t die,” Gabe said. “She’ll die if we take her to a hospital. And you’re as good as gone if you spend too much time on the outside. You know I’m right.”
Crunch kept his voice quiet but his anger was evident. “You need to be here with her. Keeping track of stuff. I have no idea what to do when you’re at work.”
“You’re doing everything you can.”
“What should I be focusing on aside from her vitals?”
Gabe pulled up one of the chairs next to the bed, checking Caroline’s pulse. Steady, just as the monitor said. One could never be too sure. The equipment was old and sometimes unreliable. “I don’t know. Does she talk at all?”
“Sometimes. She fades in and out.” Crunch paused. “That fever needs to be brought under control.”
“It’ll come down. I’ll give her another shot of steroids.”
Crunch rubbed his eyes. “This is bad, man. Really bad.”
Gabe pointed at the machine. His friend needed encouragement. The nights were long since Crunch was with her alone. Daytime was so much easier with the three of them around, even though he and Jones slept most of the time.
“It’s okay,” he said. “She’s got a strong heartbeat, blood pressure is steady…she just needs time to recover. She probably didn’t sleep when she was in there.”
Crunch didn’t look all that reassured. “Is that IV drip good enough to keep her going?”
“For a while. Few days, maybe. We’ll see. I promise it’ll be all right. In the condition she’s in, it’s better that she stays asleep for a while. That way she doesn’t have to think about what happened to her.”
Crunch shuddered. “That shit gives me the heebie jeebies.”
Gabe patted his shoulder. “All the more reason to park your ass next to her and stay the course. We’ll get to the finish line soon enough.”
“Doesn’t she need food?”
“Eventually, yes. When she wakes up, give her some soup or juice or something. Keep it easy.”
Crunch hunched over, putting his head between his legs. “This would be a lot easier if you were around. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Jonesie and I gotta keep up the routine. You know that. I’m home most of the time.” Gabe started digging through the backpack. “And I always come straight downstairs after my shift.”
“Yeah,” Crunch said. “But if something happens when you’re not here-”
Gabe put his hand on his friend’s back. “Then you’ll know what to do.”
“That’s the thing,” Crunch said impatiently. “I don’t know what to do. We can’t treat her injuries properly. She needs all sorts of stuff we can’t provide. All those broken bones. The bruises and the belt marks and the knife wounds. I’m keeping an eye on those stitches but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“We can help her gain strength and get her well enough to travel. That’s all we need to worry about.”
He’d found the magic words, because Crunch appeared to relax.
“You been talking to Gig?” he asked.
Gabe’s contact in the Underground. Another fortuitous relationship formed before he realized it would be useful. “Yeah. He knows it might be a while.”
“You were hoping it would be easier, weren’t you?”
Gabe frowned. “Wouldn’t have been able to get her out if we hadn’t been able to convince those assholes that she was dead. But yeah, I suppose I was.”
“You think she’s got the intel we’re looking for?”
That wasn’t the reason they rescued her, but he hoped so. “We can’t stay here forever, Crunch. It’s not safe. You took a big risk with that pharmacy tech and we can’t pull that kind of trick again. We gotta run with whatever she knows.”
Crunch shrugged. “It had to be done. I was careful.”
Gabe handed Crunch a beer. He looked like he could use a drink, which was why he’d brought the booze downstairs in the first place. “I haven’t told you this but…some really serious shit goes down at The Fed.”
Crunch twisted the cap off the bottle. “More serious than, say, slicing a woman open and leaving her for dead?” he asked.
“Don’t joke,” Gabe said. “Serious fucking shit, man. We need to get her healthy and get the fuck to California or Texas or wherever the fuck we’re gonna go. None of us are safe here but the two of you will always have targets on your back.”
Crunch drank about half the beer before he spoke again. “The price we pay for being who we are. Fuck.”
Gabe pounded his beer down in a few gulps. A fitting end to his night. Topping it off with some alcohol. “Like I said, stay the course. Keep an eye on her. I have a feeling she’s gonna be just fine.”
Crunch threw his bottle into the trash can next to the bed. “Whatever you say. What should I do to pass the time?
Gabe rummaged around in the backpack again, tossing a book in his direction. “Here. Read this to her.”
Crunch looked at the cover. “The Decameron? Really?”
Gabe laughed. “I read in some article a couple of years ago that she liked classical literature. Something about having a bunch of old books in a library in her house.”
“You sure she might not want to hear something a little more…modern?”
“Is it gonna make you fall asleep?”
Crunch gave him an insulted look. “I have read more than just the back of cereal boxes. Give me some credit.”
Gabe patted his shoulder. “It’ll keep you occupied. You might learn something.”
“I haven’t read out loud since grade school.”
“Who knows? Maybe she’ll be able to hear you. Doesn’t hurt to try.”
The other man flipped through the pages. “I’m gonna bore her to death,” he said, then blanched. “Sorry. Probably not the proper joke to make.”
“Just read it.”
Crunch sighed. “I bet she’ll wake up and tell me to read her something more engaging.”
“We can dream,” Gabe said, zipping up the backpack again. “You okay down here?”
Crunch punched him lightly on the arm. “You’re tired. Go. We’re fine.” He opened the book. “I’m doing your silly exercise and reading to her. Here we are: third story, tenth day. I’m sure it will be sufficiently engaging.”
Gabe laughed and headed up the stairs.